


Breath and Body

by winchestersinthedrift



Series: Het SPN Oneshots [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Breathplay, Choking, Explicit Language, F/M, Hair-pulling, Rough Sex, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:15:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchestersinthedrift/pseuds/winchestersinthedrift





	Breath and Body

You didn’t bring it up for the whole first year of, well, whatever it was that you and Dean were doing. Honestly, there weren’t a lot of decent descriptors for whatever you were. You’d known Dean for ages, in a way - your parents had been hunters, too, and a couple of times John had stopped by your place with the boys when you were all kids. You lived in Pittsburgh now, had an office job, but even though you’d left the life you knew it, knew about it, and the boys could talk about it and be their real selves around you. For years now they’d been stopping by whenever they were in town.

You and Dean had fucked for the first time a year ago, after a poker night and too many beers, with Sam thankfully passed out on the sofa. It’d been easy and natural and good, really good, and now whenever he was in town you’d picked up where you’d left off. You weren’t sure how many other girls he did this with; frankly, you really didn’t care. When he was here, he was yours.

It was early morning now, and he was here. You’d remembered when you rolled over to hit your alarm, still half-asleep, and - oh, Dean! Dean. The realisation of his presence washed over you, warm, like summer sunlight. He’d come by late last night and slept over. Not much actual sleeping; you were both still naked under the covers.

He had woken up too, was propped up on one elbow and blinking slow and wide-eyed, still bleary. You noticed now what you hadn’t last night, that he had a new scar just under his arm along his ribs, still white and a little puffy. Fresh. He smiled (a small, tired smile, traced out in new wrinkles around his eyes) and rolled over on top of you, kissed you first lightly and then open-mouthed, broad shoulders braced up on his forearms. When the alarm went off again you hit it and he made a noise of sleepy annoyance and started to get up.

‘Stay for awhile,’ you said, impulsively. He pulled a face at you, sitting on the edge of the bed.

‘You’ve gotta go to work, babe.’ You shook your head.

‘I’ve got sick days, I’ll call in. Please, Deaner, don’t leave. Not yet.’ A split second of hesitation, then he rolled back and grabbed you round the waist, but you laughed and sat up cross-legged in bed and looked at him, lower lip between your teeth. He rolled over against you and put one arm around your ass, nuzzled the line of your hipbone with his face, and you giggled but pulled back a little so you could see his face. You were still a little sleep-dazed, groggy enough to be unusually bold.

‘Dean –‘

‘Hrrrmmmg.’ Back in the crease of your thigh, this time, and you sucked in a fast breath.

‘Dean, listen. Can – could we try – there’s something I want you to, uh, to do this time.’

He rolled away from you a bit, then, and propped himself up on his elbows, fingers still running along your thigh. He didn’t answer, just looked at you expectantly, eyebrows cocked, so patently unfazed and eager to hear it that it made you a little less nervous.

You realized you hadn’t said anything, yet.

‘I’d – I want you to pull my hair,’ you said, fast, before you lost your nerve. ‘And – and, uh…and choke me.’

One eyebrow cocked higher but he didn’t skip a beat, just brushed a thumb across the back of your fingers and smiled with his tongue between his teeth, warm and reassuring and just the tiniest bit predatory.

‘Done it before?’ he asked.

You ran your tongue along the inside of your teeth.

‘Once. Yeah. We – uh – we didn’t get super far, I wasn’t – no, no, he was fine,’ you said hastily, seeing the look on Dean’s face and tightening of his jaw. ‘He didn’t – he didn’t hurt me, it wasn’t that, it was just-‘ you paused, glanced up again to meet his eyes. ‘I didn’t trust him enough, I mean…I didn’t know him very well and I – I think maybe you need that, for, ah, for this. It wasn’t his fault.’ You stopped and said quite simply, ‘But I trust you.’

He smiled again, warmth and affection and _I gotcha_ , studying your face. Then he rolled up onto his knees and faced you, cupped a hand over one of your elbows.

‘Hair pulling,’ he said, huskily, morning gravel still in his throat, ‘and choking?’

‘Yeah,’ you said, and shifted, skin gone flushed and your pussy already tingling. Dean took your hand and held it, said quite serious and utterly matter-of-fact, ‘K, doll, open hand on the side of my head, that’s your out. Smack me good.’

‘Dean-‘ you said, seizing his hands, because for some reason him saying this so seriously was what made you finally blush and turn a little to faltering embarrassment inside, ‘you’re- I mean – is this ok?’

Instead of answering he leaned a little forwards and took your face in his hands and kissed you, the slowest you thought he’d ever done it, bone-breakingly slow, tongue swiping slow-dragging across yours, his lips soft and a little tacky from going down on you last night. You were a little nervous, still, muscles tight and tense, but his kisses wiped your mind so blank and set such fire smouldering in your belly that you let yourself get lost in it till you felt his hand up in your hair, gently pulling the elastic band out of your ponytail. You tensed and he said ‘sssshh’ against your lips and ran his hand up under your hair to the crown of your head, fingers tangling in the sleep-tousled strands.

You were both up on your knees now, bodies pressed close together. Dean had a hand at the small of your back, pressing you closer against him, and you could feel his cock harden and swell against your naked belly. He nudged a little forward on his knees, pushing you up the bed and against the headboard with a thunk. Your feet and shins scrabbled against it and you brought them up and wrapped them around his hips.

It was a thin bedframe, headboard almost flush against the wall, and Dean held you right up against it, top of the headboard across your back and your shoulders pressed up against the wallpaper. You groaned a little when he ground up between your legs, still on his knees with the balls of his feet dug into the mattress, one hand up on the headboard for leverage. His dick was trapped down between you and you slipped a hand down to your belly and thumbed its head, felt his slick pool wet across your thumb.

Then he broke away from your mouth and closed the fingers in your hair into a fist and tugged, just hard enough to tip your jaw up a little, and he held it there while he sucked a hickey into the base of your neck. You shuddered a little against him, the prick of discomfort over your scalp heightening the pleasure of his tongue, and gave a disappointed cry when he loosened his hold a bit.

‘Oh baby,’ he breathed, ‘I got more, gonna take good _good_ care o’ you.’ He ran the hand that wasn’t wrapped in your hair down from your navel, palm flat against your skin. His middle finger slipped into your slit and he felt you wet and ready and shifted against you, took his dick in his hand and adjusted, pushed inside you. You contracted around him hard and at once and gasped at the feel of it, all your sensations punched up to red by the feel of your hair still wrapped tight and taut round his fist.

When you wriggled and bore down on him moving inside you his fist tightened involuntarily, jerking your head back and baring your throat to him. He was breathing ragged and a wash of arousal flooded you at the thought that he was getting off on this too, that the sight of your neck arched back, your whole self defenceless to the quickest twist of his fingers was doing something to him on a visceral level. 

He was thrusting now, long full strokes inside you, and without losing his rhythm he dragged his palm back up over your belly and chest, slippery with your slick, paused for a second over your collarbone, let go of your hair and cupped his hand around the back of your skull so his faces was just a few inches from yours. No words, just his eyes flicking dark over your face and his tongue sitting just between his teeth, flick-quivering. Then he kissed you open-mouthed and deep and pressed the hand that lay on your collarbone right up against your throat, hard enough that you felt the pinch and pressure of his fingers and an unfamiliar strain at the bottom of each breath.

Then suddenly his hands were gone and he was turning around and taking you with him, pinning you under him on the mattress, sliding back into you with a grunt and a hitch of his muscle-thick thighs. Gravity bore him a little deeper this way, and you writhed up against his hips. His hand was back circling your throat, not pressing yet, but still just the threat and the promise of it made you buck your hips up off the mattress. He was up on his elbows and thrusting again, short strokes close and grinding against your cunt, one forearm pressed across your collarbone to where his hand lay just under your jaw. He shifted his weight on the other arm, slipped his hand up into your hair again, and he was all around you now, muscled forearms framing your head, his fingers at your throat and lacing sharp-hot at the roots of your hair and his cock stroking and filling you with a hot pulsing ache.

He dragged his lips down to your breast, took the nipple in his mouth, and his hand tightened so that you could feel it around windpipe and tendons and muscle, felt his thick fingers throttle the ease of each breath. You arched hard up off the bed, clawing his shoulders, and made a strangled noise, more a raspy breath than a scream. You were fighting for more air now, writhing a little but mostly held still by Dean’s hips and hands and forearms, and you felt him falter for a brief moment, heard him say, ‘baby- do you wan-‘ but you said ‘ _more_ ,’ in a breathless punched out voice and your thighs started to shake against him, trembling with your tightening body.

He set his lips together, got his fingers into the hair at the base of your scalp and _pulled_ , down and a little sideways, so that the crown of your head was pinned back right against the mattress, chin tipped up. Dean pressed the span of his other hand higher, right into the underside of your jaw, and he shifted the position of his hips so that the force of his thrusting rolled up into his torso and shoulders and your whole bodies rocked together, his hands and forearms on you and his mouth – his obscene gorgeous mouth – like extensions of his cock moving inside you.

And he was _taking your breath away_ , literally, and somehow a small part of you laughed at the pun even as the idea inflamed something deep and visceral inside you – that he held your very breath in his hands. You were close, close now, thighs still shaking, ass held tight off the mattress, core tight around him, and somehow the distraction of fighting for breath made the surge of heat at the base of your spine coil and flicker more fiercely. You could feel it building behind and around the shuddered effort of breathing, so big and consuming it overwhelmed you, scared you a little. Then you clutched at his face, saw black spots, said Dean! and came – not the hardest you’d ever come, not the sharpest or keenest, but the _biggest_ : rolling and seizing on and on through you. Dean let go but kept thrusting, quick and erratic. He grabbed you still gasping and jerking underneath him, held you still and said ‘ _fuck_ ’ and put his head down over your shoulder and came, in four hard pumps against you.

‘ _Jesus_ ,’ you said, still gasping a little. He rolled over on his back and looked sideways at you, smiling his most shit-eating grin.

‘Ya like that?’ he said, and it was part flirty swagger but part, you thought, real curiousity. You rolled over on your side and brushed the palm of one hand over his nipple.

‘I think I’m still coming,’ you said, and put your face down in the mattress cause it wasn’t quite a lie. ‘So yeah. Wanna go find breakfast?’


End file.
